Backstop at Malfoy Manor
by Smoltenica
Summary: Follow on from my other Daphne/Seamus fics. One of the problems with being married to a Greengrass is that the other sister is married to Draco Malfoy. This in itself is undesirable, but in the face of events like Brexit, it is even more undesirable than ever.


"Daphne, this time it feels like this might _make a difference_!"

Seamus's eyes were bright as he pulled a beret onto Sylvia's head. Sylvia jerked from her father's grasp and rearranged her hair.

"Seamus, you said that last time, and the time before, and here we are, with that stubborn muggle Prime Minister trying to put the _same vote through parliament,_" Daphne sighed. "I've been reading the news, too, you know. And we've gone to all those muggle events and filled in those sticker charts, and we've even written a letter on your mother's behalf to her dim-witted representative. How _did _the muggles come up with the DUP anyway?"

"Beats me if I know," Seamus muttered. "Nutters. Don't know how they got into Parliament." He reached out to tug Sylvia's beret further down. "Don't want you to get cold, munchkin. Might randomly snow or hail again this afternoon."

"Daddy, my hair!" Sylvia pouted. Daphne crouched over.

"Come here, sweetie," she cooed, and twisted the offending beret slightly to the left, doing some weird little action that gave the hat that little bit of air that Seamus supposed it was meant to have. "You ready to leave the house?"

She felt, rather than heard, Seamus's intake of breath, as she glanced up.

"I thought you implied this was a waste of time?"

Daphne shrugged.

"Possibly it is, possibly it's not. In any case, Astoria won't mind if we come for dinner instead of lunch – and this way, we'll get to irritate Draco. You always like that, don't you?"

Beaming, Seamus reached out and crushed her to his shoulder. She inhaled, that deep, warm, _Seamus _smell that had no other descriptor, and closed her eyes.

"What did I do to deserve a wife like you?" he murmured gently, wonderingly. Daphne basked on the warmth in his voice when the thought caught her unaware. The laughter burbled out of her before she could speak.

"You had to get a brother-in-law like Draco," she finally managed, and he groaned.

"It's all right, Seamus, it's always all right," she smiled, and leaned in to kiss him gently. He caught the kiss, deepened it, almost greedily, and thoughts of doors and rallies left her mind, and

"Mummy! Daddy!"

She blinked into the cold air.

"Ok, Munch, Daddy's here," said Seamus, and swooped their daughter in an arc in the air. "Ready to go try and shout some sense into some blasted politicians?"

"Blasted politicians!" shouted Sylvia, clapping her hands. "Blasted politicians!"

Daphne nudged Seamus through the door, picking up the placard.

"If she grows into a Gryffindor anarchist, I'll have you know it's all your fault," she said archly.

"Shut up," Seamus said affably, taking the placard from her. "Rally starts in 10. Can you bring Sylvia? My side apparition's never been the best."

* * *

"Thank you for being accommodating and having us for dinner, instead," Daphne said, shrugging off her coat. They were in the coatroom Astoria had added to the right of the entrance hall in Malfoy Manor. It had taken Seamus years before he'd been able to stomach entering the house – "My best friend was _tortured _there. As a _prisoner. _I'm not entering that hellhole as long as I live, Daphne" and even then, it had only been Sylvia's eagerness to spend time with her Aunt Astoria, whom she'd nicknamed 'Aniseed', and her cousin, 'Scops' that had convinced Seamus to walk down the long driveway and into the stone building. Thankfully, by then, the house had long been refurbished, and the hedges in the garden re-sculpted.

_Draco hates the house, _Astoria had said to Daphne, eyes hard in the feeble winter sun. _It was hell for him in that – in that final year. He just refuses to change it because he's so damn stubborn about tradition. So I fixed it. I don't see why he won't _talk _to me. _

So it was that the stone floors had been covered with timber; the walls plastered or wallpapered in a most un-Draco-Malfoy-esque series of floral prints that both Seamus and Astoria seemed to know was 'William Morris-esque'; so it was that the coat room had taken up a third of the space of a once forboding entrance hall, creating a wooden enclave in which they were now standing.

"Oh, it's really not a problem," Astoria said, smiling, though there was a touch of sadness in her eyes. "I'm so proud of you and happy of you for being part of that protest rally, Daphne."

"Astoria, what-"

But before she could ask, Seamus tripped inside.

"Jaysus," he swore, "that damned white peacock of yours is _vicious, _Astoria!"

Behind him, Sylvia giggled, a lock of hair plastered across her forehead. (Her beret had long been lost at some point in the march.)

"Daddy doesn't like the peacock," she said, and then gave a large yawn. "Bit his finger. I'm tired, Aun' 'Storia."

Astoria lent down to hug her yawning niece, whose eyes were already closing.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's been a long day. Do you want to sleep in the breakfast room by the drawing room?"

Sylvia nodded sleepily, though perhaps that was simply Astoria lifting the now almost-limp five-year old and carrying her through the hall. Daphne watched her go, whispering a sweet nothing into Sylvia's hair.

"Do you think she's happy, Seamus?" she said quietly, touching his forearm lightly.

"Sorry, what?" Seamus asked, blinking.

"Never mind," said Daphne, though she couldn't quite shake the strange feeling around her heart. "Let's take that coat off you."

Seamus nuzzled her ear. "Didn't think you'd want to proposition me in your sister's house, Daphne."

She swatted his arm. "_Seamus. _Dinner. Coat. Let's go."

And she helped him hang up his coat, and walked through the hallway toward the drawing room, trying not to think of the slight sadness in her sister's eyes.

She didn't have to think to hard about _not _thinking, though, because the drawing room was, helpfully, quite nearby, and she could hear her brother-in-law's drawl even as she couldn't make out any words.

"Are you _sure _I can't punch him _just this once_?" Seamus asked, almost plaintively, and Daphne laughed.

"You've already punched him _just this once, _and Astoria was so mad at us she didn't speak to me for nearly a week," she said lightly. "Come on, Seamus. It's just a dinner for a few hours – we only have these once every few months. You've fought Death Eaters, you'll be fine."

"Yeah, I just don't normally have to have tea with them," Seamus grumbled, but he plastered a smile on his face and walked toward the room with the firelight shadows playing on the walls.

* * *

"So," said Draco, carefully selecting his soup spoon. "How was the mob in London today?"

"Mob?!"

"Draco!'

Draco's spoon wavered as he looked, befuddled, from Seamus to Astoria. "What did I say?" he asked, almost plaintively.

"_Mob_," said Astoria, impatiently. "Draco, we've _talked _about this. You can't just imply that many people with an opinion often an _informed _opinion are ignorant thugs."

Seamus gaped at the man he still struggled to remember was his brother-in-law.

"Well, all right, crowds," said Draco peaceably. "But I still don't see why there had to be a march." He sipped from the spoon, and made a happy noise. "Ah, parsley! Thank you for remembering, Astoria."

"Don't thank me, thank Hildy," said Astoria, "she's the one who cooked the soup. Anyway, _Draco." _

Seamus was still spluttering.

"You don't you don't see "

Under the table, Daphne reached out to stroke her husband's wrist. He flinched, and she tightened her grip.

"Well," said Draco, primly wiping his mouth, "I don't think this muggle government is doing such a terrible thing in trying this oh, what do they call it? Brexit?"

Seamus launched from his seat. With one hand, Daphne pulled uselessly at his wrist, while with the other she tried to manoeuvre the soup out of reach of his tie.

"You _blasted_ Jacob Rees Mogg!"

A vein throbbed in his forehead. Daphne clapped a hand to her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or reprimand her husband. She tugged him back into his seat.

"Jacob Rees who?" asked Draco churlishly, sliding a little in his chair. "Astoria, what did I say that was wrong? Didn't I just say that the muggles weren't doing a bad a thing?"

Astoria sighed and rubbed her temples. "Not all muggles do and think the same way, Draco," she said, tiredly, as though this was something she had said multiple times. "Remember how your mother likes to say, "Not all Black women?" It's not exactly like that, but there is something in that."

"I don't much see how the muggle Prime Minister is anything like crazy Aunt Bellatrix," said Draco dubiously.

"Trying to force through policies that support division and might reignite tension between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland are ways of creating divisions, Draco," Astoria said firmly.

"Not to mention the fact that this _stupid _referendum didn't actually let people who _live in this country _vote," Seamus added angrily. "Or the fact that Northern Ireland _wants to stay._"

"I don't see why this affects _you_, though," said Draco, looking perplexed. "You've married into one of the richest wizarding families in England and you live in Bath."

Seamus turned to Daphne. "Can't I punch him, just once more?" he pleaded.

"Can't we finish this meal first?" Draco said, irritably. "There are three courses to this meal and I'd rather eat some lamb before I get punched in the face. It should be excellent, Hildy's been experimenting with that purple cabbage salad."

"Radicchio," Astoria supplied.

" Yes, that one. So can we eat before you punch me for whatever reason you have?"

"_Whatever reason," _Seamus echoed disbelievingly, and he met Daphne's gaze, gaping wordlessly as the soup was cleared away. "Daphne, your sister is married to Jacob Rees Mogg."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea who that is, but I am going to choose to take that as a compliment."

"It isn't," said Seamus, eyeing the lamb, garnished with mint and thyme, and a curious salad that was topped with what he later discovered to be a carrot and ginger dressing. "It really, really isn't. But I thought you wanted to eat."

* * *

"So, why didn't you march today?" asked Daphne, stroking Sylvia's head. The fire crackled in the corner of the room; smoke and steam from her tea whirling in a dance, meeting; whispering into the shadows. After Draco had sulkily headed to bed, Seamus had gone "for a whiskey" and told Daphne he'd meet her at their local. She suspected it was his way of letting her spend time, this time now, with Astoria. "Astoria – it wasn-t it wasn't Draco, was it?"

Astoria shook her head, and instantly Daphne felt something about her heart relax, though she hadn't known it had been tense.

"No," Astoria said. A small, sad smile flickered across her face, and when she next spoke there was more warmth in her voice. "No. Draco – he was quite supportive, really. Not supportive of the protest rally," she added quickly, apparently seeing the cynicism in Daphne's face. "But he is so supportive whenever I put my mind to anything. I think he feels that by supporting me he's able to atone, I suppose, for not having much conviction himself." She paused, took a sip from her teacup, placed it on her lap. "I'd hoped that by now I'd be more than his main conviction, but baby steps. No." She frowned slightly, and grasped the cup, as if to draw the warmth from the tea inside. "I didn't go the march because I was in New Zealand. Timaru. With Ciaran's family."

Her voice caught a little on Ciaran's name, and Daphne saw a flash of sandy hair, saw a body on the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall.

"How are they?" Daphne asked quietly.

Astoria gave a watery smile and placed her teacup on the side-table; slowly, ceremonially.

"They're about as mad about Brexit as Seamus is, and so shaken by what's just happened in Christchurch. They moved to New Zealand because they wanted a quiet life after the Troubles and after the Great Battle, and after " her breath caught again. "After Ciaran. And now well, one of Andrew's friends, Marima, is in hospital. Not a critical condition but the muggles at the hospital are a little concerned about low level brain injury due to her blood loss and low oxygen levels. She was in Christchurch that week for a cousin's wedding." Astoria fidgeted with her skirt, and suddenly she looked smaller and more tired than anything Daphne thought thirty-four years could hold. She barely opened her mouth when she spoke, so quietly, so flatly: "I don't know if there are any quiet places left in this world."

Daphne reached across the couch and placed a hand over her sister's. Astoria's hand was cold, even though she had been holding tea so recently.

_You know one thing Muggles do better than wizards and witches? _Seamus had said, shivering, the first time they'd left Malfoy Manor, Christmas, three years ago. _Radiators. Keeping warm. It's actually a thing, you know, Daphne. _

She didn't have any words. She suspected that Astoria didn't want to hear any. So they sat there, as the fire crackled into the shadows.

* * *

_A/N: I know this isn't a great fic by any stretch of the imagination. And it's been a long time, so you'd have hoped I'd have gotten a little better at writing. But hey, turned this out in an hour while waiting for my husband's physio appointment to take place, and it was a way of expressing some of the Feelings I have about everything happening in places close to home right now. As an Australian who has envied and been thankful for the compassion and cultural appreciation shown in NZ I am heartbroken by what's happened in New Zealand. Also, now that I'm living in the UK I am feeling first hand the frustration of the government's dilly dallying attempts to force Brexit, even though the referendum wasn't that conclusive and didn't have a great voter turn-out (and would not have passed in Australia!). _

_I figured that Draco Malfoy would basically be like Jacob Rees Mogg, and since I've head-canonned Seamus and Daphne as a couple, this little idea wouldn't leave me alone. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, JKR does, etc., etc.; also, the idea of 'Scops' as a nickname for Scorpius comes from FernWithy's fics. Go check them out. _


End file.
